


The Plague of Sleepless Nights

by patrickp



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5495675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickp/pseuds/patrickp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, the band broke up. Pete and Patrick haven't spoken since. But when Pete is plagued with a sleepless night, what is he to do but to call Patrick?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plague of Sleepless Nights

It was quiet. Too quiet. Bronx was long asleep, tucked neatly into his bed. His work was done, emails and paperwork squared away.

And Pete couldn’t sleep.

It’d been a long time since he’d had a night like this—restless and unable to find the magical land where responsibility and worries faded away. 

And Pete didn’t like it.

Come to think of it, the last time he’d had a night like this was… back when the band was still together. Ever since the breakup, he had Bronx and work to tire him far too much to stay awake. Yet he remembered the last night like this vividly, like it was yesterday.

_Pete stared at the bunk above him, squinting his eyes and trying to empty his mind from everything running through it. He sighed and rolled over, eyes falling across the aisle to the bunk opposite his, but more importantly: the man in it._

_Patrick was asleep. At least, he looked asleep. His chest rose and fell in even timing, and he wasn’t moving._

_Pete sighed. Again. He sighed a lot._

_Deciding to risk it, Pete slowly crept out of his bunk, practically tip toing across the aisle to the other bunk. He gently poked Patrick in the side, crouched. Patrick didn’t respond. He poked him again and again, until Patrick took notice and woke up._

_“Wha…?” Patrick shook his head and looked up, confused and out of it. “Pete?” His voice was soft and kind of slurred from sleep, the ‘t’ not being pronounced so his name sounded like ‘pee’._

_“I can’t sleep.” Pete made a little bit of a pouty face. “Can I sleep with you?”_

_Patrick held a blank look for a moment, before shrugging and nodding, murmuring “sure”. He scooted against the wall and turned to face said wall, quickly falling back asleep._

_Pete darted in and dove under the blanket, pressing up against Patrick and nuzzling his face into Patrick’s neck._

_“Thanks, Trick.”_

_“Mhm.”_

Pete shook his head hard, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. That was something he certainly didn’t want to remember. He sighed and flopped back down into bed, clutching his pillow.

A shaky sigh. Why couldn’t he seem to just forget him? It would make life so much simpler if he could forget him. Forget his smile, his laugh, his intoxicating way of, without a doubt, always making Pete fall asleep.

But that was who Pete needed most at that very moment. He needed Patrick.

Before he entirely realized what he was doing, Pete had his phone in his hand and was dialing Patrick’s number—a number he’d committed to memory a long time ago.

He paused. Would Patrick’s number still even be the same? He hoped.

Pete tapped send and held the phone up, holding his breath through the dial tones, until he heard a voice.

A slow, slurred, gentle, quiet voice, that he’d heard all those years ago and didn’t realized he’d been missing to hear.

“Hello?”

Pete, stunned with a simple word, still holding his breath, couldn’t quite find words.

“Hello?” The voice was clearer now, more awake.

Pete coughed, cleared his throat. “H-hi.”

“Who is this?” Patrick sounded vaguely angry, as he should be. Pete was calling at 2 am, after all.

“It’s- It’s Pete.” Pete held his breath again, pressing his eyes shut as he waited for Patrick’s response.

It was a minute before he heard another sound from the other end. “Pete? It’s- it’s 2 am, why are you calling?” Patrick didn’t sound mad, just confused and a little sad.

Pete took a deep breath. “I can’t sleep.” He bit his lip, trying to avoid another shaky breath. He let out a weak laugh, saying, “N-Normally, I’d ask if I could sleep with you, but, y’know, we’re not across the aisle from each other anymore.”

More silence. Pete felt a burning in the back of his throat, and knew tears were close. He’d be devastated if Patrick… he didn’t even want to think about the bad result.

“I- you-.” Pete heard more confusion from Patrick. “We haven’t talked in 5 years, and you decide to call me, of all people?”

“Well, yeah, I mean-.” Pete had no real way of justifying himself. “I haven’t really had a sleepless night in a long time. With Bronx, and work, and… I don’t have time to stay up and be inside my head.” Pete shrugged, more for himself. “You always seemed to be able to put me to sleep.”

“Oh.” Patrick was quiet. His voice once again took on that soft, gentle quality Pete loved.

Pete bit his lip, worried still that Patrick would reject him.

“So, uh. What exactly was it about me that helped you go to sleep, so I can help you now?”

That’s definitely not what Pete expected him to say.

“Um. Don’t make fun of me if this sounds fruity as hell-“

Pete froze as he heard the light laugh on the other end.

“Shut up! You’re already laughing. Rude!”

“No, no, okay—“ Patrick quieted. “Okay, I stopped. Continue.”

“Probably, just, um- the closeness, the- here’s the fruity part right here—the feeling of security, knowing you were right next to me.”

Patrick, surprisingly, didn’t laugh. “Really? I… I never really knew that.”

“Well, seeing as most times I crawled into your bed at 3 am, it was 3 am and you had been asleep, so you probably weren’t pondering why exactly I was crawling into your bed.”

Patrick laughed loudly, and Pete felt himself grinning broadly.

“That’s a fair point.”

Pete was unsure what to say next, and remained silent until Patrick spoke next.

“So, uh, Pete—not to be stalker-y or weird, but… where do you live?”

Pete felt a slow smile growing. “Uh, same apartment as before. From- when we were on tour and stuff.”

“Give me… 20 minutes.” Patrick’s voice was laced with excitement and gave off a mischievous vibe.

“Um, okay.”

Click.

Pete blinked, pillow still in his arms. He pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing at the realization of just how hard he’d been pressing it into his ear. He clicked on the lamp on his night stand, setting his phone down. Looking around at his bed and the mess of it he’d made, he stood and arranged all the pillows neatly, before dragging the blankets off to neatly reset them, making sure they were all equal and looked nice.

He stepped back and looked at it, then realized it looked like no one had slept in the bed. Pete sighed and flipped back the covers, climbing under and wriggling around a little to muss them up and punching the pillows to make them look slept on.

Now when Pete stepped back and looked at his work, he felt accomplished. After checking his phone, he saw he still had about 10 minutes to go till Patrick would be there.

At least, he assumed.

Pete set himself to work again- finding reasonable pajama pants and a t-shirt, because he was not answering the door to Patrick, who he hadn’t seen in 5 years, in just his boxers.

After dressing himself and making his way out to the living room, he sighed. Had it really been five years since the band had broken up?

It felt like merely a week. Sometimes the grief of it would still hit him when he thought about it too much, his chest hurting and tightening up and tears threatening to pour over his cheeks. Sometimes, he’d be listening to a song with a good bassline and his fingers would tingle with longing to be back on his bass. 

Pete still had his bass, of course, it’s not like he’d get rid of it. But it ended up getting in the way and it was in risk of being broken with toddler Bronx running around, so he put it in the closet.

Pete was lost in thought for a while until the ring of the doorbell jaunted his attention. He scrambled to the door, opening it to find a rather breathless Patrick Stump.

The sight of his best friend took his breath away. His cheeks were flushed red from the December cold, snow sprinkled in his blond hair, bright blue eyes shining behind those adorable square glasses. He sported pajama pants and a blank blue tshirt, but over that he had a leather jacket and scarf.

“Um, Pete? You gonna let me in?” Patrick laughed nervously, shifting a little and gesturing at the falling snow.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Pete shuffled backwards, opening the door more so Patrick could come inside.

The younger man stepped inside and shook his head, brushing off some of the snow, then worked on taking off his scarf and jacket, while Pete closed the door and then stood in awe of Patrick.

“W-what? Do I have something on my face?” Patrick blushed a little, brushing at his face.

“No, you just… You look so different.” Pete blinked a little. “But you look good.”

Patrick blushed more. “Thanks. You do too.”

“Well of course I do, I’m Pete Wentz.”

Patrick laughed again. Jesus Christ, Pete missed that laugh.  
\----------------------------------

Pete wasn’t sure how they went from talking in the living room to cuddling in Pete’s bed but it happened. Pete’s head was tucked close into Patrick’s chest, Patrick’s arms wrapped tightly around the other man.

Pete’s breaths were becoming more and more even, syncing up to the rhythm of Patrick’s.

“Hey, Trick?”

“Hmm?”

Pete frowned into Patrick’s chest. “Why did we stop talking?”

“Do you mean right now, or—“

“When the band broke up.”

Patrick was silent a moment. “I guess it’s because I thought you were mad at me. And I was too afraid to try to talk to you and risk ruining our friendship more, but in doing that, I guess I ruined it worse.”

Pete nodded. “I’m sorry I was such an ass.”

“It’s okay. I was too.”

_“Jesus Christ, Patrick, it’s not just your band!” Pete threw his hands down his exasperation, tired and just wanting to go home but they had to record this dumb record._

_“You don’t even seem like you care! All you ever do is run off with—with fucking MIKEY, and blow off all our band practices and you haven’t given me decent fucking lyrics to work with in god knows how long—“_

_Pete cut him off. “Oh, sure, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry that I’m too busy being in LOVE to write some dumb little lyrics for this dumb little band.”_

_Patrick froze._

_Pete knew he’d gone too far but the look of devastation on Patrick’s face, the satisfaction of knowing Pete had won an argument like this won over any urge to apologize._

_“Pete. Tell me you don’t mean it.” Patrick’s voice was shaky and broken._

_Pete said nothing._

_“Pete!” Patrick’s voice shook even worse and cracked on every word. “Tell me you don’t mean it!” He was crying now. Tears ran down his porcelain skin._

_Pete couldn’t help but feel a little sorry, but still didn’t say anything._

_Patrick grabbed his stuff in a hurry, shoving his laptop into his bag and grabbing his acoustic guitar and storming out, Pete barely moving in time to miss Patrick’s path of rage._

“No, really. I… everything I said, I didn’t mean. I wasn’t in love, and—I definitely didn’t think the band was dumb.”

Patrick scooted away from Pete a little. “Then why’d you let the band break up?”

Pete went quiet.

“Pete?”

“Because… because I was in love with you, and I just—I thought Mikey would cure me of that and I just needed some time away to try to get myself to fall out of love, and—that’s why I had no lyrics, because all my lyrics were about you. I just couldn’t… I couldn’t risk truly falling in love with my best friend because... Because I was afraid of really being in love.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to be silent.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid.”

A few more beats of silence.

“You know, you really should have told me, and we could have avoided the whole break up thing.” Patrick smiled down at Pete, a smirk growing on his lips.

“What do you mean?”

For the first time in his life, Patrick did something Pete never imagined him doing in a thousand years.

Patrick kissed him.

Pete was frozen with shock as Patrick’s warm lips met his own, making only a chaste kiss before pulling away again.

“Oh. You mean that.” Pete grinned and leaned up and kissed Patrick again, tongue gliding into Patrick’s mouth, grazing across his teeth and lower lip.

After the kissing, after they had settled in for sleep and they were both almost asleep, Pete broke the silence.

“Thanks, Trick.”

“Mhm.”


End file.
